


Sworn To

by beforethequeen



Category: Final Fantasy XV
Genre: Gen, M/M, Pre-Game(s), Pre-Slash, a marriage of sorts
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-09
Updated: 2017-06-09
Packaged: 2018-11-11 12:44:09
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 947
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11148678
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/beforethequeen/pseuds/beforethequeen
Summary: The quiet ceremony that binds the Shield to his future King.





	Sworn To

On his eighteenth birthday, Gladiolus kneels before the throne of Lucis, his knees baring his bulking weight and he bows his head low. The feathers that graze his neck above the collar of his Kingsglaive formals are bent in reverence. Noctis stands before him, sharply pressed in his formal suit. There are others in the room with them, King Regis, fellow Crownsguard, a few high ranking Glaives, and his own father, all dressed in ceremonials, but all Gladio feels is the marble beneath his knees and the fixed gaze of Noctis upon him. 

A hand over his heart, Gladio repeats the words he has read a thousand times and carved into his mind in preparation for the day he swears himself to his duty.

Noctis is fifteen and small for his age, a slip of a thing in a suit and a heavy black velvet cape, his chin tipped up and his posture leaning slightly to the left. For all his formal dress, the teenager is still visible beneath. Gladio is struck by the urge to straighten him out. 

King Regis approaches and touches his Royal Arm to Gladio's shoulder. He releases a tense breath. 

"The sworn Shield to the next in the line of Lucis.”

Gladio closes his eyes, lets the words baptize him anew. The king has decreed it so. Next, Noctis approaches him with light feet. Gladiolus opens his eyes and looks at the young prince's leather shoes polished to a shine. He clenches the fist over his beating heart. 

Above him he hears, "The Shield to the future King."

Noctis' small lilting voice repeats the words, trying to sound firm but just revealing his age, his newness. Gladio's stomach steels. This young prince is his to protect. Gladio looks up at him, meeting bright blue eyes. 

"I am yours, Your Highness. I swear my life to you, to protect you and the Kingdom of Lucis always."

Gladio carefully recites words in an ancient language that no longer feel foreign on his tongue, for how often he has repeated the prayer to himself when meditating and hitting the punching bag. The words bare his oath, his loyalty unwavering through death. A dead prayer calls upon to six to keep him on his path, and to keep Noctis on his path in turn. 

Noctis' hand moves for his shoulder but his slight fingers graze the cartilage of Gladio's ear on the way there. Gladio is certain he manages to quell the shiver that threatens to run through him. The small hand is firm on his shoulder. 

"I entrust you with my life, my mission, my people."

Noctis holds out his other hand and, in tradition, Gladiolus takes it and stands. Their hands slide along their forearms to grasp each other’s elbows. Gladio towers over him, looking down at the round pale face that gazes back up at him in wonder. Days and hours spent training on the mat and Gladio feels as though he is seeing him anew. 

Noctis. His Prince. His future King. Their destinies entwined. Gladiolus would die for him without hesitation and while he always knew this to be his fate, and one he'd accepted from a young age, he feels a shift, a more rigorous and passionate devotion to his Prince. 

King Regis speaks in their ancient language. Gladiolus knows the words, can see the black scrawling ink on the faded paper that he studied, but they sound different to his ears with his eyes fixed upon Noctis. The younger man does not break his gaze. Only the day before, Gladio had been taking swings at Noctis on the mat, thinking the young man is far from ready to take the throne, but looking at him now, he sees a boy king he would gladly fight to his death for. He sees his own mission to guide Noctis and help him become a wise and powerful King. 

Regis says a word that Gladiolus knows to mean “love.”

His heart tightens. His gaze will not budge from Noctis’ face, taking in every soft angle, every freckle and eyelash, memorizing him and holding every detail close to his chest. 

They whisper a quiet vow, barely able to hear each other over the rumble of their own voices, the frantic rush of blood pumping in Gladio’s ears. 

And then the ceremony is over and time seems to return to normal, the small crowd on onlookers return to Gladio’s consciousness. For a moment of weakness, its source wilfully unexplored, Gladio wishes they would leave only Noctis and himself, standing before each other on the steps of the throne of Lucis, clasping each other tight.

Their hands fall away, Noctis is ushered to his father. Gladio is not expected to be anywhere. Clarrus claps a proud hand on his shoulder. 

Noctis is lead away by his father, Gladio catches his eye as Noctis gives him one long last glance over his shoulder before disappearing from the throne room. Gladio loses his breath. He should be following him. He should be–

Relying on his instinct, Gladiolus gives a half bow to his father and jogs off in the direction Noctis left. He comes to an even walk beside Noctis and straightens his shoulders, eyes fixed forward. The group pauses, Regis and his advisor and Noctis. Gladiolus does not catch the proud smile on the King’s face, but he does see the shy tilt of Noctis’ head towards him. They walk, Gladio fixed at Noctis’ side, and Noctis’ hand reaches out to brush his knuckles, just lightly, and through the minute touch of skin and bone Gladiolus can feel the strength of their burgeoning bond. Waking forward. Together.

**Author's Note:**

> I listened to "The Hazards of Love 4 (The Drowned)" by the Decemberists all day.


End file.
